Call Me
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: Set during the episode of the ice and bum slap, Brendan gives Ste a call. Nothing more than a bit of smut really!


**A/N: Set during the episode of ice and bum slapping. Brendan does indeed give Ste a call…**

**::**

**Call Me**

Of course, it'd started first thing – his skin all fresh and dewy from the morning blow I gave him. Last night I put the shutters down, at his request, tried focusing on the neon sign that pointed to future – our future – and cocooned into a deep sleep next to him. Pressed up together. We'd fucked until past midnight. _Made love_. It's how he'd describe it in reverberated vowels but he was right. Last night wasn't about his ankles above his head or making his eyes whiter, it was about looking right into him, holding him. Treasuring him. And us. It was about us.

He stands naked in the bedroom, feet apart and leafing through his tatty clothes. I watch over the rim of my coffee mug. I should be dressed by now, heading over to the club, but you just can't miss these moments. His hair, short as it is, is roughed up at the back. I didn't give him much let-up last night, but then I always love driving straight into him when he's underneath, his gnarled little o-mouth of pleasure. Buckling.

"Wear that," I say, his hand stopping on a navy tracksuit. It's new. Silky. Expensive. I couldn't help but give him some money for new clothes. I was sick of seeing him dressed up like Douglas's Ken doll. He didn't like taking hand-outs but he's mine to treat now. He's pure in these clothes. Real. It makes my groin ache that he can be so relaxed with me, wearing these unzippable sports gear like lad from the estate.

He spins round, hands on his hips like a wife. Still as naked as the day he was born. "What, today?" he says, screwing up his face like I'm suggesting a suit.

"Why not?" I swing out of bed, pull on my boxers from the floor. They're under his, both stripped off at the same time.

"It's new. Adidas. I thought I should save it for sommit special."

"It's a tracksuit, Steven. It ain't a Prada suit." I know I should be grabbing a shower now but I'm still here, watching.

"Well it's the nicest tracksuit I've ever had, alright?"

"I wanna see it on. Put it on and come to work with me."

He grins, he knows as well as I do what will happen. It's what always happens when we're at Chez Chez and it's a quiet day. That's the whole point.

"I'll be a distraction," he says.

"I won't ask again." I make my way to leave the room. I've got the beginnings of a hard on (it's a good thing the kids are at their granddad's if I'm walking through the house like this) but I'm already running late. The new runt will be there today and I ain't about to take any shit from him. Not after yesterday.

"Alright!" he calls, "But I've got stuff to do as well today. I can't be hanging around Chez Chez all day!"

::

We rock up to the club around ten to eleven and he takes automatic pride of place on one of the stools at the bar. We kiss and kiss and kiss. I'd forgotten how good we are at this. He makes these little yearning moans in his mouth. He's a tease. A total stirring of nerves and my pants are tight – all his doing. His hands slink up and under my black shirt and he wets his lips and bites down on them.

"You got anything you need doing in the cellar?"

He's ridiculous and I groan, my forehead stooped to press against his. We've got time for that later. I run my hands across his tracksuit and sigh.

"I gotta work," I say, unlooping reluctantly.

He pouts, spinning around on the stool. "I'll make myself busy then until the new lackey gets here, shall I?"

"You know the ropes." I hate to think of the way I shut him out and fired him so I hold back on telling him he's my best barman. "Tequila shots stuff needs sorting – limes, salt…if you like."

"You're the boss," he says and I feel that frisson of excitement crawl up my spine again. He'd be bad for business keeping him around.

We flirt and play. Ice down the back of his neck. I imagine it dripping in goosebump-making stripes down his spine. He's not a fan of the cold, is Steven. I have persuaded him, in the past, to lie down with a half melted ice cube from my whiskey tumbler in his belly button. He screams and shivers like a girl. I sucked it from his skin and ran my frozen tongue across his dick's slit, pinning his legs down. He's a wriggler.

Kevin walks in and cuts short our fun. I barely notice him but Steven has. He's steaming in what I think is envy, possessiveness of me. I make sure Ste knows where my mind's at and I spank his arse as he walks by. He's thrown. It's something we usually save behind closed doors but I'm marking my intentions, to Kevin too. If he had any ideas yesterday then he needs to know that it ain't happening.

Steven's tongue comes out. Mine too. He mouths and signals to call him like some obvious little thing. I'm so fixated on him and what I want to do to him I can hardly walk in a straight line. I'm still looking in his direction as I close the door to the office and sink into the chair, wondering how long I can leave it before calling him.

I shift in the seat, the leather creaking. The sound of my zip rips through the air and I think of Ste's lithe wet tongue. I like the way his cheeks hollow in when he's sucking me off and he's got those ever-curious eyes. Years on they're still checking for my approval. I like that more than I should. It's as much for his own ego as my power play. His little up-turned nose huffing hot air into my pubes. He's heaven-sent. Next door I hear general clattering and with a blunted groan of irritation I realise the newbie needs some training.

::

I leave it as long as I can bear before calling him. I've given him enough time to shop or do whatever he needs to do. If he's out of that deli it suits me fine. I gave Kevin orders to clean the bogs and go home without disturbing me. The door of the office is locked, the lights dimmed, something full of base playing on the speakers and I've got one of Steven's old Chez Chez t-shirts spread out on the desk in front of me. I keep it in the locker, in a separate safe along with his employment record and recordings of CCTV for old time's sake. There's footage on one of the DVDs that makes me blow my load before I even get halfway. He's always looked good on camera.

The t-shirts been locked away for years but it still smells of him a little. It smells of his lanky body and Lynx. He'd fill this nicely now, the beginnings of pecs and biceps snug and delicate.

I loosen a few buttons on my shirt and sink down into the seat. I'm freeing my cock when he picks up my call.

"Hiya, you alright?"

"You home?"

"Yeah just in."

"Good." My voice is half the speed of his, dark in my throat. He can slow it down too if he knows the game I'm playing. I've seen his eyes change colour too when he's in the mood, like the moon's gone out. "You alone?"

He ruffles with laughter and that spikey defensiveness he has. Always sharp until I've got my mouth on him. "Course I'm alone."

I breathe down the phone, let him hear the growl in my chest, feel the pause as my thumb passes over the skin of my shaft. I feel his brain tick and the image of his dawning realising jolts me and a surge of blood pulses to my dick.

"Are _you_?" Gone is the playful, domestic homeboy. I hear him close a door and slump down somewhere.

I hum a little, my palm kicking out over my cock. "How's the tracksuit working out for you?"

I hear him pull at the zip and I drown the sound with a caught moan. My fingers close around my cock.

"Feels nice," he says. He's muffled as he wriggles on the bed. I hear shifting around. "Well it _did_ feel nice, but I've only got the top on now."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He breathes into the phone and I can sense him, leaning back on his elbows, the tracksuit top opened up and bottoms discarded. "Forgot t'put anything on underneath this morning."

I lick out my sounds of approval and regret not giving him a closer grope this morning. Then I'd have sacked off work and probably just carried him back to bed.

"Bren," he says, a little uncertain. My eyes are closed, heavy. I've got the phone on loudspeak, one hand bringing his old uniform to my mouth and the other playing with my dick. "You gonna do some talking?"

"Need a little help do you?" I tease. Knowing him, he'll be at full mast just selling my name call him. I feel him crease up in a blush on the other end. "Feeling shy today, huh?"

"I like hearing stuff, y'know."

"What kinda stuff?"

"You know what. Dirty things. Things you wanna do…"

He says this like he's in a church. All holy whispers and secrets.

"Things I'm _gonna_ do," I say, correcting him. My dick swells as I squeeze.

"Yeah that," he says. I hear him sigh. "From the start."

"Only if you promise me something."

"What?"

"When you come you do it good and loud for me. Yeah?"

"Uh huh," he says, strangled, and I know I've just made him leak pre-cum over his fist. He's young with the worst willpower known to man.

"You liked that this morning, did you Steven?" I say, letting his name linger on my tongue and letting the sound spur the glide of my fingers. "My little goodbye present."

He breathes, laboured. I hear his hand making my work easy. "Yeah. Felt naughty in public though, didn't it?"

"Yeah but we all know you like that," I say. I wet my fingers and circle them around the head of my cock. "Like you'd be here right now, tongue all loose on my dick even with the door unlocked."

"I'd take you all the way down, you know." His voice is cracking like he's concentrating.

"Yeah, you've got a pretty little mouth, ain'tcha? Good for a lotta things, but so's mine." I relax into my shallow breaths. "Steven, how about you get those fingers wet for me?"

He's quick and eager and I hear his brief discomfort. "It's not as good as you."

"I wanna hear you move it," I wait for his soft stuttered moans, "There's a good boy."

"Yeah?"

I pull at my dick, letting my skin bristle and buzz with heat. "I'm gonna fuck you with three of mine, that good enough for you?"

He can barely manage a reply.

"Get on your front," I tell him, "On your knees. I wanna get my tongue right up inside you. You on your knees for me? Go on."

He rolls on the bed, muffles a cry into the sheets and I know he's thrashing his dick in his fist. He won't be much longer.

"You tight?"

"Uh…"

My fingers are gluey with cum as I strip my dick. "You're gonna feel every inch of me. I'm gonna fuck you now. You want it?

"Yeah…" he's lazy because of his moans and I make him answer again. "Fast," he says, "Do me so hard I can't –"

He comes and I hear the force of it and the way he's collapsed into panting afterwards. I let the sounds of him bring me to the end and wipe myself off onto his old t-shirt. We're breathy with laughter and his quietness is tinged with embarrassment.

"Get yourself cleaned up and come for a drink with the boss," I say. "Place to ourselves."


End file.
